


Tincture

by WhiskeySoda



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: After care, Aftermath of Torture, Anal Fingering, District 9 AU, Healing, Healing Sex, Implied Monster Sex, Knotting, Knotting aftercare, M/M, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship Intterupted, dog hybrid, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: “Hyunjin,” Chan’s voice contains neither judgement or disgust when he breathes, but the tinge of frustration, no, exhaustion is undeniable. A firm hand on his hip is intended to prevent him from fitfully humping into the cot, and against Chan’s single digit. The increased contact only spurns him on. “Hyunjin, I don’t want to hurt you.”





	Tincture

**Author's Note:**

> Alright kids. U know the procedure. U R ENTERING DA MF MODERATED COMMENT ZONE

“Hyunjin, you’re safe now.” Those four words are something so intangible and strange, but he so desperately wants to believe. “Nothing, I mean that Hyunjin. Nothing is going to hurt you anymore.” When weight shifts upon the bed and when warm hands cup his face, he wants to believe it. When short clipped nails rub his scalp, and move down lower still to rub the tension out of his neck it’s tempting to do so. When all the tension is drained from Hyunjin’s body, it becomes true for a moment.

When sweat soaks through his shirt, strong yet gentle hands are there to undo the buttons and help him from it. In those moments where he is exposed, shirt gone and blanket pulled away, cold paranoia blows through the room and freezes Hyunjin’s brief moments of lucidity out.

For in these moments, he expects rough hands to throw him down onto a cold tile floor that is tacky with blood and god only knows what other kinds of bodily fluid. In these moments, he expects the mechanical _clank_ of the cell door and rough hands to throw him out.

His is mind is a cruel thing, and there’s very little here to make him believe that this is nothing more than a brief reprieve created by his mind to dull the pain. Never mind the fact that if he were to roll over and find that that warm bed and kind caretaker was a generated illusion, such an illusion would be far crueler than anything that was done to him.

In these moments when he expects the worst, he’s only greeted with further strange and wonderful proof that this too is real. When he forces his eyes open, he sees the owner of the voice that talks to him and breaks through his fitful dreams. Curled hair, brown eyes, uncertain smile are all paired with a voice that is far too real to be anyone other than their leader, his friend, Chan.

“You sweat through your clothes again. And you need your wounds redressed. Let me wash you off. Okay?”

And it doesn’t matter how soaked through he is, or how bad he smells, Chan always waits for his response. “Okay,” given with eyes cast downward and jaw pulled tight.  “I hate it that you have to see me this way,” hates that it’s _Chan_ who sees him like this. Hates that Chan’s the only one who he craves in these darkest moments, and in some ways it feels far worse than anything that was done to him.

Chan, usually never at a loss for encouraging words, sucks in air like he wants to try to ease the pain. Nothing comes out, and only thick tangible silence remains. Instead of speaking, Chan takes the wash rag in his hand, pushes it into the lukewarm water and wrings it out.

The temperature is neither too hot or too cold, but Hyunjin flinches when it touches his skin, and that makes Chan flinch too.

 Chan begins at his right shoulder, rubbing the skin in slow circles, the cloth feels like sandpaper on his overstimulated skin. “Do you want someone else to do it?”

For a moment time stands still. Chan stops washing his sweat stained skin. The sound of his own heart beating, is deafening in comparison to the thick and tangible silence between them.

 Hyunjin holds Chan’s gaze and not a single shard of shame becomes embedded into his eyes to tear him away. “No,” Hyunjin answers quickly. For the first time in…how long has he been in Chan’s room? Days. It _has_ to be days, because the very idea that he’s been this way for _weeks_ and is still so unwell is too painful.

Hyunjin hates the way that Chan looks at him…like he doesn’t know what to say and somehow responsible for Hyunjin’s pain. Chan treats him like a child now, and he can barely muster the adequate anger in response. He was one of the _best_ in the ninth district, and now? Now he’s helpless.

But most of all, he hates the way that he _loves_ how Chan treats him like a child. Not so long ago, he’d stand in the hallways outside the hydroponic room, just for the chance to hear Chan’s beautiful voice pour out from the vents. Now? Such a thing is given to him freely. As Chan drags the cloth across his chest, gently circles the soft brown flesh of his nipples, and moves down his chest, he sings to Hyunjin. “Days of perfect tunes, colors of red and blue.”

Chan furrows his brow in frustration as he works, using the wash rag to soften the adhesive bandages on his flank, he peels them away slowly.

Cold air hits Hyunjin’s exposed skin and the throbbing red places where skin has been torn away. All the while, Chan continues to sing to him like he knows that his voice dulls the pain. Like he knows that his voice in the back of his mind was the only thing that kept him going. “We’re in love.”

Whatever he and Chan had _before_ the botched mission…stolen kisses, and tentative touches that bubbled just on the brink of something amazing were put on hold. He and Chan stand interrupted, yet simultaneously they were all jammed forward. In the past, Chan’s attention constantly divided between himself and his teammates, now Chan has become devoted to him. It’s nice. Naïve, but nice, to believe that maybe whatever they _could’ve_ had, wasn’t crushed underfoot completely. 

First, Chan wipes the wounds clean. His fingers grazing the mottled and uneven scabs that dot the bite marks across his flank, inflicted upon him by a dog like beast with blood shot eyes and thick black fur.  

“It’s looking better.” Chan notes as he rises from his spot near Hyunjin’s cot and walks across the cramped bedroom. Near Chan’s bed is a row of potted plants, succulents, and herbs. Ivies spill out over the ledge and onto the floor. Although the sight of green is so often soothing, Hyunjin realizes that for every moment that Chan is here with him, his hydroponic garden in the sub-basement goes unattended.

Pain from the bite begins in his flank, and radiates outward from either side like bolts of lightning shattered against his stomach and back. But, the thought of Chan torn away from what he loved most for _him_ hurt more.

Chan returns to his side with a brown glass bottle tucked into his hand. Stopper removed with a _squelch_ , he pours thick green tincture into his hand, and spreads it across the wound. Bandages are reapplied with feather light touches. The only proof that Chan had touched his body at all comes in the form of fresh white plasters upon his chest _._  

“Turn over?”

Hyunjin knew that this was coming but… “No.”

“Please?”

Hyunjin gives in without further protest, turning onto his stomach.

For a moment, it’s easy to become lost in the _trickle-whorl_ sounds of the cloth being rinsed and wrung out. Accustomed to Chan’s touch, the cloth upon his back feels soothing as Chan washes across his shoulders and the small of his back. The water, treated with fragrant herbs from Chan’s garden, will cling to whatever oversized shirt Chan will dress him in next and keep him from smelling like sweat for just a little bit longer.

 Of course, there are more words designed to take the edge of the pain away. “You’re healing so fast. I can it every day.” And “You’re lovely, Hyunjin.“  And then finally, Chan asks permission for what he dreads the most because it is more humiliating than anything that happened during his capture. No one, but especially not Chan, should see him for what he is, dirty and unclean. “Hyunjin I need to.”

But, he never finds the strength to protest. Hyunjin could tell Chan that he’d rather risk infection, but he doesn’t. Hyunjin could tell Chan that he could apply the medication himself, but he never does. Instead, he answers with a voice muffled by the pillow, “just do it Chan.”

Chan rests his palm on the small of his back, rubbing lightly and waiting for Hyunjin to _exhale._ Then hands part the cleft of his ass, and _just_ how many times had he dreamed, no furiously jerked off to the thought of this happening? How many times did he grip himself under the covers, _pray_ that Minho or Felix wouldn’t wake up? How many times did he jerk his cock until he was spilling into his own hand and searching between the covers for a discarded shirt or sock to mop up with?

The ointment that Chan applies smells pungent, but soothes his hot abused skin. “You’re not as red today. Or as puffy. That’s good.”

“It still hurts.”

“I know.” Chan first applies it to his hole circling with his finger, and then applying pressure. The action tests Hyunjin to see just how badly tenseness has crept back into his body. “I still need to put some inside.” Like Hyunjin doesn’t know that’s what comes next.

Chan’s finger slides inside and of course it _hurts._ Stretched out and left broken by the creature Hyunjin knows that nothing could have edged out the pain of its thick knot growing larger, and larger inside of him. When the pain was too great to bear, when his vision tunneled, and he was certain that he would be torn in two, the creature tore into the soft flesh of his flank.

Chan’s finger _hurts_ , but it’s almost irritating how much it hurts in comparison. Chan asked him. Chan waits for him. Chan _heals_ him. Yet his mauled body _aches_ even from just this simple, gentle touch.

“Hyunjin,” hot puffs of breath at his ear are meant to soothe as is the hand that traces each nodule of his spine up and down his back. “Relax.” Chan kisses him haphazardly on the shell of his ear, and with that simple act of tenderness, it is as if a switch were thrown.

The pain recedes to a dull ache. Chan’s finger slips further inside, and he spreads the medication slowly and with great care making sure that his walls are coated in the thick substance.

Perhaps even worse than the pain, is the hot and undeniable fact that it feels _good._

“Chan,” the whimper on his lips _feels_ far more wretched than the rest, but _must_ sound _identical_ to the rest to Chan. “Chan,” and he can feel the whine drip down his throat viscous and pathetic.

He wants this, even when his body is abused and broken. No, he wants this, especially because his body is abused and broken. To feel something that was his choice. To make someone else feel _anything_ at all…

“Hyunjin,” Chan’s voice contains neither judgement or disgust when he breathes, but the tinge of frustration, no, exhaustion is undeniable. A firm hand on his hip is _intended_ to prevent him from fitfully humping into the cot, and against Chan’s single digit. The increased contact only spurns him on. “Hyunjin, I don’t want to hurt you,” Chan admits as his finger slips from his hole.

It’s the kind of statement that should suck the air out of the room. Should make him feel ashamed for what he’s done, but it doesn’t. Chan has already seen him at his worst, sprawled on concrete with a genetically altered beast knotted deep inside of him. That’s right. A beast, because he wasn’t even worth being degraded by a human.

“You can’t hurt me Chan.”

The cot springs creak under shifted weight. Hyunjin turns over, and Chan lies at his side. Lips brush against his own mouth, parted in silent request. The kiss is somehow lighter than Chan’s touches, a whisper against skin that Hyunjin begs to be repeated. When he does not get his way, he presses his lips harder against Chan’s and pulling the soft flesh with his teeth.

When Chan doesn’t give him what he wants, he takes for himself. Grinding up against Chan’s clothed thigh, the whine that he makes when Chan pushes him away barely sounds like himself. 

“Please Hyunjin, don’t do this to me.”

If Chan is unwilling to give him what he wants, and he cannot take what he wants, Hyunjin will get what he wants by himself. Gripping himself firmly around the base of his cock he jerks himself from base to tip and then screws his hand down over the tip and goes back down.

This seems to be acceptable to Chan. No pushing, no pleading.

With each drag of his hand, he drags himself closer to the edge. He didn’t want to cum when it happened, didn’t want anyone to hold the misconception that he enjoyed what had happened to him. Body addled with drugs, couldn’t help himself when he did inevitably spill on the blood and cum stained floor.

With each twist of his wrist, he believes that _this_ will be the one that sends him over. He’s so close. So painfully close because Chan is just that good to him. Makes him forget, and makes him feel good just over a few kisses and feather light touches. But he can’t. Pick a reason: shame, fear, exhaustion. He can’t cum.

It pisses him off, that this is how his first time with Chan is going to be. With this taken from him too, he’s too volatile to control himself, and Chan too kind to touch him. When gritting his teeth isn’t enough, and burying his face in Chan’s shoulder isn’t enough, and screwing his eyes tight shut isn’t enough, hot tears well in the corner of his eyes and spill outward. Because whatever it is that he does, it’s never, ever enough.

 “Hyunjin it’s alright.” Chan has rarely left his side, but only down does he truly _hold_ Hyunjin. Cradling his body, and separating him from everything else in the world that was angry and black.  “Hyunjin,” Chan gives him sloppy, open mouthed kisses, nibbles the lobe of his ear, and caresses his sides. Wipes the tears away from Hyunjin’s face, but never once touches his cock. In a motion that is calculated and overcautious, he rests fingers over Hyunjin’s own rapidly moving hand. “You’re perfect.”

 “Hyunjin,” his name on Chan’s lips drags him back from dark places and keeps him grounded in reality. “I love you.”

 _Finally,_ a rough hand joins his own at his cock, and it feels _so_ good. Chan’s touch is firm, and not so frantic. The tension that builds in his body grows, and grows naturally. When he cums in Chan’s hand, all he can see is love in his soft, uncertain smile.

“Hyunjin it’s alright.” Whether spoken once, or repeated a hundred times, Hyunjin needs to hear it said. His whole-body hums not in protest, or in pain, and that alone feels transgressive of everything that has happened to him in the past few days.

Hyunjin doesn’t think about how long the feeling will last. Minutes at most, they will tumble through his fingers and into the sheets where sleep will drag him back into that dark ugly place. For now? For now he simply believes that Chan, a tincture for his heart, has healed his wounds.

 


End file.
